


Remembering Altihex

by Darksidekelz



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-21 20:51:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13151811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darksidekelz/pseuds/Darksidekelz
Summary: Altihex is one more casualty of the war, kept alive only in the memories of its survivors.





	Remembering Altihex

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this entirely because of the bit in Reaching for the Sun where Blast Off goes to Altihex. I thought it was a fun setting.

There had been no battle for Altihex - no blaze of glory, no honorable sacrifices, no heroic speeches to go down in the history books - it was just gone, taken in the night as its citizens slept in their beds, blissfully unaware of their own impending demise.  One more despicable act on top of a series of ever-increasing despicable acts.  

He didn’t know who’d sent the bomb; all things considered, it was likely the Decepticons.  Blast Off’s hometown had long been a center of flagrant displays of wealth, and a disdain for the impoverished.  And unlike Iacon, it was vulnerable - a polity located high atop a spire-like mountain, and a space station locked in careful orbit above.  It was only a matter of time before the war claimed such a fragile place as that.

The doomed state of his hometown didn’t make its inevitable destruction hurt any less.

He arrived in the ruins mere hours after the bomb hit.  The space station had been destroyed from within, blown right from the sky, and into the city below.  All that was left of the grand polity of Altihex was a crater on the side of a mountain.  

It was risky to be in such a place; Blast Off knew, but how could he stay away?  This was an entire culture, art and history and innovation, wiped out in the shuttering of an optic.  How many of his own kind had been lost?  How many remained?  

He wandered through the rubble, toeing aside a crystal shard - the remnants of the space elevator.  He’d only used it once; it had been constructed for the sake of tourists, who could not reach the station on their own.  As a local, he’d spent most of his youth in those celestial halls, but after the Quintesson War and his subsequent move to Kaon, he found himself spending more and more time away from the home of his heart.  He regretted that now.

His last visit to Altihex had been different - special.  He’d come, not as a mech that had grown up there, but as a tour guide.  It had been before the Autobot-Decepticon War, when he was still working for Onslaught.  Vortex had admitted to curiosity over the alleged wonders of Altihex, and Blast Off, as a proud Shuttle, couldn’t refuse him a visit.  

They’d arrived at the base of Mt. Altima, in the small settlement that had developed from the tourist trade.  Very few Shuttles deigned to live down there, rather, the city was infested by upper class Grounders looking to capitalize on another culture’s treasures.  The Altihexians looked down on these profiteers, but they also tolerated their presence; truth be told, theirs was a society in decline.  If tourism was what was needed to keep them living their luxurious lives, then what did they care?

“Please don’t cause any trouble,” Blast Off said for the thirteenth time that morning.  Vortex had sworn that he wouldn’t, but he had that look in his optic, a look that meant intrigue and excitement, both of which were lethal in the Copter’s hands.

“One might start to think you don’t trust me, Blasters.”

“I don’t,” was the matter of fact reply.  Vortex mocked a pout behind his mask.

“After all we’ve been through together!  Just wait ‘til I tell Onslaught!”

Blast Off stiffened.  He knew that his relationship with Vortex was open; there was no other way for it to be.  Vortex assured him that Blast Off was his favorite, but with Onslaught around, it was hard to be sure.

“Jealous?” Vortex laughed.

“Let’s just get on the elevator.”

A handful of glossy mechs had already gathered around the crystal elevator, waiting for the doorman to arrive.  They may not have been shuttles, but they were clearly still high society.  Vortex stuck out like a broken servo amongst the Racers and Scientists and Admins, not that he particularly cared.

“They got like, a weight limit or something, right?” Vortex mumbled, much to Blast Off’s surprise.

“A weight limit?”

“You know, like - only a certain number of mechs can be on the station at any moment.  I remember reading something like that.”

“Oh that.”  How surprising that Vortex, of all mechs, knew about such details, even if they weren’t quite right.  “You’re close.  It’s more a population limitation, to keep the station from getting too crowded.  This is our home first and foremost - the comfort of the inhabitants is the highest priority, and well, you know we’re not big on socializing.”

“Gotcha,” Vortex said.  “That makes sense.”  He slipped behind Blast Off, as though to hide.  The behavior struck Blast Off as odd.  Vortex wasn’t afraid of anything.  What reason did he have to do such a thing? 

“What are you doing?”

“You know how you said you didn’t want me to cause trouble?” he muttered, so softly that Blast Off could barely hear.

“I did.”

“What if someone else starts it?”  He jerked his head toward the crowd, where a handful of the nobles were staring Blast Off’s way, and more specifically, at his small, scruffy companion.  The looks on their faces were none-too pleased by the arrangement.  War Mechs belonged down in the Undergrounds of Tarn, Kaon, and Helex, not out on a luxury space station.  Afts.  

Blast Off marched forward, and Vortex followed at a distance, an anticipatory twitch to his rotors.  The little heathen was probably hoping for a fight, not that a civilized mech like Blast Off would ever be caught dead in a scuffle.

“Good day,” he greeted.  “My name is Blast Off, of Altihex.”

“Fasttrack.”

“Twin Wind.”

“Whiplash.”

“Turbine.”

One by one, the high society mechs greeted him, suspicious, though prohibited by their upbringing to exhibit crass behavior.  A few even averted their optics at Blast Off’s arrival, as though ashamed to be caught staring at his companion.

“Forgive me for asking, Sir,” one of the tourists began, “but what brings you down here?  I thought locals had their own private entrance.”

“Indeed,” Blast Off agreed.  “I am here to show one of my dear friends my hometown,” he nodded toward Vortex, who offered up a casual wave in return.  “I do expect each of you to treat him with courtesy during your stay.  Fighting is prohibited up on the station.”

He received a few affronted glares for his troubles, but the nobles were quick to agree.

“Oh yes, of course.”  “Wouldn’t dream of it!”  “No trouble from me, Sir!”

“Ooh, Blast Off!  Defending my honor!  How noble of you!” Vortex chimed, skipping over, and taking Blast Off’s arm in his own.  “I’m such a lucky mech!”  Naturally, this earned further dirty looks from the nobles.  Blast Off resisted the urge to bury his face in a hand.  This was a disaster in the making.

Thankfully, he was saved by the timely arrival of Nebula, the tour guide.  Blast Off greeted her with a nod, and she returned the gesture, albeit with a flicker of surprise in her optics.

“Hello, my esteemed guests, and welcome to Altihex,” she said in a grand voice.  “I am Nebula, and I will be your guide on this adventure to the only polity to have its own space station.  It is locked in orbit in the Altihexian sky by technology pioneered in our great nation, which capitalizes on the magnetism within Mt. Altima to maintain a constant position relative to the mountain.  But don’t worry.  It may not seem like it, but the station is quite stable.  Now, please follow me into the elevator.”

The elevator had been a grand affair, just wide enough to accommodate fifteen Shuttle-sized mechs at once, though tourists were rarely so big.  It stretched miles into the sky, beyond the point where gravity was meaningful, at least on the outside.  The conditions within were acutely maintained, for optimal comfort, even as they approached escape velocity.  The crystalline walls were thick, sturdy, and absolutely gorgeous, channeling Cybertron’s reflected light into the compartment to create cool blue waves upon the walls.  They made for a poor window, but holograms on the entrance side of the passage showed the goings on beyond the safety of their gilded box.

For Blast Off, the ride was claustrophobic - a pale shadow of the joys of breaking atmosphere by his own power.  Vortex, however, had seemed to enjoy it, pressing close to the crystal walls, the flickers of their iridescent light glimmering in his optics.

~~~

Blast Off kicked aside the shard.  The elevator had been an ode to arrogance - a fragile little thing, that was doomed to fall from the moment of its erection.  Blast Off did not mourn it.  Altihex was best when it had no contact with the ground - the tourists had been a bane upon the station, and the elevator itself was an unpleasant travesty.  He moved on, deeper into the heart of his once-home.

A small fire was still burning up ahead - within, he could just make out twisting wires and gold plating, melting down a deep black panel.  Visibility was limited, but he was fairly certain this had once been part of one of Altihex’s legendary corridors.

~~~

Blast Off and Vortex had long-since ditched the tour group.  They weren’t beholden to the same rules as the rest; Blast Off knew his way around after all.  

He had brought Vortex to an isolated corridor, meant to simulate skirting the rings of a planet.  The space was cold, rimmed by an iridescent circle, with a gaseous sphere in the middle.  

Vortex had situated himself against the railing, peering over the side into the ball below with a dazed expression.

“It’s pretty, isn’t it?” Blast Off mused, puffing his chest with pride. 

“Mmm,” Vortex agreed, before pushing himself back onto the catwalk.  “Crazy that a place like this was made by mechs.  Nothing like this in Kaon.”

“Don’t I know it?” Blast Off sighed, watching Vortex closely.  He seemed somehow bothered.  That was no good.  “I can show you the zero g room, if you’d like.”

Vortex nodded, whirling to face Blast Off.  “Sounds good.”

The zero g room was a bit hit.  Kaon was not kind to flight frames, and Vortex had spent most of his life underground.  Evidently, the weightlessness of the room was the closest he’d come to flying in a long time.  

“Hah, this is brilliant!” he laughed, bouncing off the walls, complete with all manner of backflips, handstands, and general merrymaking.  Usually, a happy Vortex was a bad sign, but today, his innocent glee was contagious.  Behind his own mask, Blast Off was smiling too.

Then the door opened, and a familiar EM field made itself known, buzzing haughtily aginst Blast Off’s.

“Ugh, Grounders sure are easily amused,” sneered Lunattic, one of the local scientists, as he stepped into the room, a snide frown on his purple faceplates.  Blast Off narrowed his optics.

“At least they know  _ how  _ to have fun,” he snapped, trotting off in a huff.  A tapping on his shoulder indicated that Vortex had followed, floating along behind him.

“What was that about?” he asked.  There was a protective edge to his voice, one that Blast Off didn’t want to see the end result of.

“Nothing you need concern yourself with.  Lunattic is just a snob.”

“So, kinda like you,” he laughed, though his voice was coming from far away.  Sparing a glance behind him, Blast Off found his companion had taken to floating backwards, his gaze fixed on a suddenly nervous Lunattic.

“Just ignore him.  It would be a shame if you were kicked before we made it to the transwarp corridor.”

Vortex turned back around, bouncing weightlessly along the floor.  “You’re no fun,” he complained, but there was a curious sparkle in his optic.  He wanted to see the transwarp corridor too.

The private tour didn’t end until Blast Off had shown Vortex each of the ninety-nine unique corridors Altihex station had to offer.  Vortex’s favorites had been the nebula room, the heart of the star room, and of course, the transwarp corridor.  But there was more to Altihex Station than its corridors.  There was one more major place to hit up.

~~~

Blast Off shook the memories from his head.  The corridors had been the best thing Altihex had to offer, locals and visitors alike.  Its beauty had been legendary, the pinnacle of Altehexian art, culture, and scientific achievement.  Pit, its beauty had served the same for all of Cybertron; nothing of the planet’s natural beauty could come close to what Altihex had to offer.  

And now, all of its beauty had burned up in an act of war.  It’s history, its rich culture, phenomenal art, and enviable science was gone forever.  It was difficult to mourn - so much had been lost, where could he begin?

Numbly, Blast Off pressed onward into the ruins.  

He passed the remains of the great hallways, interspersed with the mountain rubble, and the twisted metal of the lower city, completely flattened by the falling station.  Much of what he found was unrecognizable as anything but wreckage, though he wasn’t trying too hard to identify anything.  He didn’t want to come upon any bodies, least of all those of mechs he’d known since his forging.  It was better to tune out the carnage around him, to walk through the smoke and fire, empty and faraway.

And then he found the tokens.

It was a stupid thing to notice - a pile of randomly-dispersed, blue stones, cut to perfection and reflecting refracted light through their symmetrical surfaces.  They had been used as tokens at the famous Altihexian Casino, a place he’d spent a surprising amount of time at for a local.  Most Shuttles found the place to be unseemly and chaotic, but after his return from the Quintesson Wars, Blast Off found the moderate noise to be enjoyable, and he’d always been on good terms with the owners, the twins Aphelion and Perihelion.  To see its remnants was a harsh blow.  Had the twins survived?  It was doubtful.

~~~

“So, this is the oft-lauded casino,” Vortex smirked, stepping through the door with a look of fake-awe.  “Quite a fancy place you got yourselves up here.”

Vortex was just being Vortex.  The place legitimately  _ was _ impressive - the main hall was three stories tall, glistening gold columns reaching for the star-studded ceiling high above.  Holograms on the walls acted as windows to the void outside, offering a flawless view of Cybertron far below; that on its own was worth the price of admission.  The casino itself was expansive - card tables and roulette wheels lined the main walkway, with a petrorabbit racetrack at the planetside window, while a line of flashy machines, each featuring one of five chance-based minigames dominated the other.  

The room hosted two bars.  The first was near the main entrance, a luminescent, crystalline structure, with a rainbow of overpriced energon kegs on the wall, all imported from other polities.  The other bar was closer to the far end of the room, less lustrous to not distract from the live show.  Every week, the casino would bring up some comedian, or musician, poet, actor, or otherwise to entertain the crowds of guests.  Tonight was an appearance from a local magician named Space Case.  Several private booths and tables were gathered near the stage for convenience.  A few of the booths even boasted controversial AR generators.

The remainder of the nobles from earlier had gathered in here and promptly dispersed to join the crowd of already gathered tourists.  Blast Off, however, had no interest in gambling.  He was here entirely for Vortex, and Vortex seemed surprisingly disinterested.

“You don’t like it?”

“A bit high class for a den of sin, don’t you think?”

“Even nobles like to party sometimes.”

Vortex shrugged his rotors and skipped ahead a few steps.  “Alrighty then, why don’t you go ahead and show me how to party like an Alpha?”  He turned back, a smile in his optics, and Blast Off could barely resist the urge to scoop him up and carry the bangable little mech back to his room.  Instead, he marched forward, clapping a hand to a grey shoulder, and steered his companion to the first bar, manned by a black, gold and silver Shuttle who Blast Off knew well.

“Aphelion,” Blast Off greeted, “two Nova Cronals.”

“Nova Cronals?” Vortex scoffed.  “I’m not a lightweight.”

“Nor are you the heavyweight you seem to think you are,” Blast Off shot back.  “I told you, I don’t want you making trouble, and the chances of you disobeying increase exponentially if I let you get overly intoxicated.”

Vortex folded his arms in a huff.  “You’re no fun.”

On the counter, Aphelion set two crystalline cubes filled with a fizzing amber substance.  He cast Vortex a cursory glance, before his cyan optics fell on Blast Off.  “Long time no see, Blast Off.  Who’s your friend?”

“What, you don’t remember?” Vortex cried out in mock horror.  He’d even clutched an affronted hand to his flat chest.  “Do I really leave so small an impression?”

Aphelion’s eyes widened, and he drew back, frantically trying to call up the memories of a night that wasn’t.  At least as far as Blast Off was aware.

“O-of course I remember you, er . . .”

“Vortex.”

“Vortex, right!  From . . . uh . . .”

“Kaon.”

“From Kaon!  Of course, how could I forget?”

Vortex chuckled and snapped his mask open, no longer able to hide his humor.  “Nah, I’m just screwing with you.  We danced like, for five minutes a couple centuries ago.  I only remember ‘cause that’s when I first saw Blasters here again for the first time in vorns.”  He reached for the engex cube, and took a long gulp, giving no indication that he found it pleasant or otherwise.

Aphelion’s mouth opened and closed several times, as though trying to say something that his noble upbringing simply wouldn’t allow.  Eventually, he settled on, “Oh.”  His wingtips stiffened in suppressed anger.  It was best to defuse the situation before it got out of hand.

“Don’t take anything he says too seriously.  Vortex thrives on negative attention, so he goes out of his way to be a royal pain in the aft.”

Aphelion nodded dumbly.  “So, are you friends from . . . work?”  He said the word with an air of subtle disdain.  Clearly, the Shuttle was less than pleased that Blast Off had chosen to take a job on the surface, working under a Delta Caste Grounder no less.  It should have been beneath an Alpha Caste Shuttle.  Blast Off, of course, didn’t give a flying frag one way or another.  Onslaught was a miracle-worker, and a far better fit than anything Altihex could have offered.

Before Blast Off could confirm Aphelion’s assumption, Vortex was stepping in with that same smug smirk on his face.

“Not sure ‘friends’ is the word I’d use.”

“What word  _ would _ you use,” Aphelion asked, optics narrowed in suspicion.  Good.  He was learning.  But Blast Off could see where this was going, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Vortex,” he warned to no avail.

“Frag buddies!”

Down the bar, one of the Grounders from earlier shot Vortex a sharp glare.  Such things were simply not discussed in polite company.  Obviously, Vortex didn’t care one bit about what was or was not socially acceptable.  He gave the Grounder a coy wave, before finishing his drink.

“Could I get another of these?”

Wisely, Aphelion looked to Blast Off for permission.  That was good.  Vortex did not need to be given everything he asked for.  Just this once, however, Blast Off nodded.  “One more.  That’s it.”

“Psh, prude.”

Aphelion poured the drink with pursed lips, and slid it towards Vortex, careful not to touch him.  “So, what brings the two of you all the way to Altihex?”

“Vortex has never been before, so I thought I’d take him.”

“Really?” Apelion said.  “Why?  I mean, no offense, but a War Frame up here is a little . . . odd.”

Vortex laughed.  “Because we’re in love, obviously!”  Naturally, Aphelion was less amused.  He raised an incredulous optic ridge.

“What?”

“Ignore him.  That’s what I always do.”  Blast Off took a long sip of his drink.  “He wanted to see my home, so I agreed to show him.  That’s all.”

“You’re a cruel one,” Vortex whined before chugging down his second drink.  He shoved himself back from the bar, with a bit more force than he’d probably meant, if his slight wobble was a sign.  “C’mon!  Let’s go play!”

And play they did.  Vortex wanted to see everything.  Blast Off refused to lend him money, but he didn’t ask.  Rather, he proved to be quite the card shark.  His earnings from Full-Stasis managed to make good fodder for the roulette, the petrorabbit races, the slot machines.  Unfortunately, when it came to luck, poor Vortex was a little less adept.  By the time the pair reached the back booths, he was one flat broke little Rotary.  Blast Off broke his promise, and bought the poor guy a pity drink, as they watched Space Case make one of the nobles disappear.  The show itself was passably entertaining, but Vortex, more than a little drunk by this point, proved far more interesting.

“Do me next!” he called out in the middle of the routine, earning a quiet glare from the magician in question.

“Yes, please,” called out one of the nobles from the surface - Whiplash, if Blast Off was not mistaken.  “ _ Please _ make him go away.”

Blast Off shot the noble in question a sharp glare.  Vortex may have been annoying, but no one had the right to talk to him in that way.  “Perhaps he ought to make  _ you _ disappear instead.”

“Say that again?!”  The noble, more than a little drunk by this point, lunged from his seat, trying to make his pathetic Speedster self appear intimidating.  “Go on, I dare you!”

By now, Space Case was twitching his wings and clenching his fists, annoyed to have his show interrupted by a brawl waiting to happen.  “Blast Off, congratulations,” he said, “you’ve volunteered to be my next victim.”

Vortex groaned beside him.  “Aww, you always get to have the fun.”

Blast Off didn’t want to go, but the look in Space Case’s optic left no room for argument.  He didn’t want to get into a fight with a Speedster anyway; it was beneath him.  And so, heaving a heavy sigh, he marched up to the stage, and turned around to face the audience.

“Esteemed guests,” Space Case called out, once more putting on his boisterous showman’s personality.  “You’ve been such a great audience!  For my final trick of the night, I am going to saw this mech in half.”

“That’s not  _ that _ impressive,” Vortex heckled.  “I chop mechs in half all the time.”

Space Case twitched a wing, not sure what to make of the statement.

“He’s not lying,” Blast Off muttered, softly enough that only the magician would hear.  That only served to make the poor mech even more upset.

“Yes, well, this will be clean and painless, and we’ll put him back together in a flash.”  Indeed, Blast Off was lead to a small chamber, perfectly suited to a mech of his size - head sticking out the top, feet sticking out the bottom.  This wasn’t the first time he’d been called upon to help with this trick; he knew what was expected of him.  He waited for Space Case to step in front of him to fasten him in, then performed a partial transformation, getting his feet up and out of the way, while another shuttle, already positioned inside, slipped his out.  Honestly, Blast Off considered this sort of deception to be beneath him, but a chance glance at the audience showed Vortex watching in rapt attention.  That alone made the show worth it.

He played up his (very real) anxiety as the superheated plasma saw blade sliced through what appeared to be his midsection, until he and his double were separated.  Space Case gave a little spiel, which Blast Off and Vortex alike paid no attention to.  Vortex had his optics locked, not on Blast Off’s face, but the double’s feet, and he looked a little displeased.  Blast Off, of course, had his attention fully consumed by Vortex.

“And now, I shall rejoin what once was one.”  

He moved the boxes back together, the double slipped back into his hiding spot, and Blast Off stepped out, whole again, to a round of awed applause.  Nobles truly were a sheltered bunch.

~~~

That damn casino.  He didn’t need to be plagued by memories of shallow frivolities and drunken mishaps.  Vortex hadn’t been fooled by any magic trick Space Case attempted; he was far too observant for that.  Even Blast Off hadn’t known  _ all _ of the mech’s secrets.  Not that any of it mattered now.  Space Case was long dead.  Aphelion and Perihelion and all of the vendors, the dealers, the bartenders - anyone who had been in the casino was long gone by now.  Remembering it in its bustling glory days was too hard to bear.

Blast Off dropped the tokens and kept onward.

The world became a blur of indecipherable rubble - bodies, homes, places he’d known, and those disfigured beyond recognition.  It all passed over him, in the same shocked numbness.  This wasn’t his home.  This wasn’t the place where he’d been born, raised, where he was shaped into the mech he was today.  It couldn’t be.  It was too horrible.

Smoke and ruin met him wherever he tread, but still, he pressed on.  He knew not what it was he sought.  Perhaps it was nothing at all.  Whatever the case, he had to keep on, even though the smouldering ground beneath him burned at the metal of his feet.  Even though the smoke clogged his vents and blinded his optics.  Even though he’d found himself in the bowels of Hell itself.

And that was when he saw it.  It was small, insignificant.  A tiny golden wing lying on the ground - like those that adorned the trophies of merit, given out by Senator Aileron herself, to those unlucky few Altihexians drafted into military service.  He picked it up, already knowing what it would say.

_ For the Most Honorable of Citizens - Blast Off the Distant of Altihex:  100ch 52sc 0512 _

This was his.  It had been left in his room; sitting in a desk of odds and ends that held no meaning for him.  They were trivial garbage - not worth the hell he’d gone through to achieve them.  But seeing it’s warped, shattered edges and peeling paint here and now, it felt somehow precious.  He clenched his fist around it, and held it tight to his chest, shuttering his optics.

He could see his room now.  Spacious, with minimal furniture to impede him.  There was the desk on the wall, where he hid the nonsense he didn’t want to deal with.  It also held his personal computer, and a small shelf of datatrax.  The airsoft floating berth hung in the air on the opposite side of the room, and crystal plants, harvested from Valvolux, hung from the ceiling in every corner, refracting a soft blue light from the energy globe that served as the room’s centerpiece - the core of the planetarium that orbited around Blast Off’s ceiling, danced across his walls, and lit his floors.  He’d loved his room in Altihex; nothing else could compare.

Of course, there had been other rooms in the suite - a den, a washracks, and energon storage - spartan living for an Alpha, but necessary on the colony, least of all for a mech who was so often on-planet.  But the bedroom was the most important.  He’d made some . . . unforgettable memories with Vortex in the bedroom.

~~~

“So, this is your room, eh?” Vortex said, offering an impressed whistle as he took in the sights.  “If I were you, I don’t think I’d ever wanna leave.”  He made his way to the far side of the room and hopped up onto the berth.  It sank slightly to accommodate his weight, but was back at level soon enough.  “Primus, this is nice.  A  _ floating _ berth!  Will the wonders never cease?”

Blast Off shook his head.  “They’re popular among Shuttles,” he noted with a shrug.  Despite his default disapproving stare, he was quite enjoying the scenario.  He wasn’t sure he’d ever seen Vortex so thrilled by something that wasn’t murder or violence.  It was somehow refreshing to see him in such an innocent state - a reminder that he had once been a normal mech too.

There was no sense in going down that road.

“Aww, Blasters, why so shy?” Vortex snickered, sprawling on his stomach and allowing his rotors to fan out wide.  His attempt at seduction was short-lived.  “Wait, how sturdy is this thing?  Can it break?”  He sat up, optics focused on the barely-visible impression of light and air beneath him.

“Not in my experience,” Blast Off sighed.  Perhaps this had been a mistake.

“Do you think we could test that?”

Or maybe not.

Blast Off sauntered over to the berth, remarkably cool for how hot he felt.  As much as he liked to pretend that he was above Vortex’s antics, there was no denying how very attractive he found his Rotary.  He crawled up atop the airy surface, and Vortex scurried back to give him some room - not that the berth was small by any means.  Blast Off’s room may have been spartan for an Alpha’s room, but it was still unmistakably an Alpha’s room.

“I suppose we could try,” he said, leaning in close, and cupping a hand under Vortex’s chin.  Just as Vortex began leaning in, however, Blast Off pulled abruptly away.

“Frag, Blasters, you’re not playin’ me, are you?  ‘Cuz it’s not a very funny joke,” Vortex whined, scooting back until his tail boom met the head rest, and crossing both his arms and legs alike.  “I’ve been waiting all night to get you alone.”

“Oh yes, I know,” Blast Off smiled mischievously, retracting his mask.  “But I’m not sure you’ve been good enough to deserve a reward.”

Vortex growled.  “Oh, I’ll show you good.”  In one quick motion, he leapt on Blast Off, using his momentum to know Blast Off back onto the berth, which sank beneath their weight.  Blast Off began to roll, to dislodge his little pest, but Vortex got his fingers in deep between the seams in Blast Off’s plating, transforming them to talons to better his grip.  One wrong move would result in paralysis.

“Ah-ah-ah,” he laughed.  “I’m being good.”  He leaned in close, retracting his mask to nip at Blast Off’s nose.

“Not sure this is what I’d call ‘being good,’” Blast Off snorted, good-naturedly.  Claws aside, he had no problems with this arrangement.  

“No?” Vortex asked, tracing a soft trail down Blast Off’s cheek with his sharpened teeth.  His hands began moving downward as well, following the gaps in Blast Off’s plating.  “What do you call it then?”  He vented a soft gust of air over Blast Off’s face, eliciting a shudder.

Blast Off risked moving an arm, and Vortex allowed the action, allowed Blast Off to take hold of one of his wrists, allowed him to bring said hand to his mouth, and lap at each finger.  “I call it being a pain in the side.”  He bit down on a finger, hard, and Vortex hissed sharply.

“Aft!” he snapped, trying to pull the hand from Blast Off’s mouth, but Blast Off wasn’t relinquishing his advantage.  Not until Vortex made him.  And indeed, it didn’t take long for Vortex to move his free claws into the vents on Blast Off’s chest, scratching at the sensitive metal.  “Give it back!  I need that.”

Blast Off rolled over, pushing Vortex’s lighter weight from atop him, and pinning him face-down against the airy surface.  “Hmm, this seems more appropriate to me.  What do you think?” he asked, finally giving Vortex his hand back.

“Hmm,” Vortex sighed, shimmying beneath him.  “I dunno.  I barely feel any charge at all.”

“Maybe if you hadn’t gotten yourself so overcharged at the casino,” Blast Off sighed, trying to push all of his weight into Vortex.  Unfortunately for Blast Off, he simply wasn’t all that heavy.  Vortex was able to dislodge him with a well timed thrusting of his aft into the air, followed by a quick wiggle that left Blast Off off balance, a bit too off-balance, as he slid right from the berth and onto the floor.  “Argh!”

Vortex erupted in a fit of cackling.  “Primus,” he gasped between laughs, “who’s the overcharged one?”

Feeling more than a little vindictive, Blast Off picked himself up and lunged straight for Vortex.  The little bastard certainly hadn’t seen that coming.  The two went flying, sliding straight over the low-friction surface of the berth, and back to the floor below.  The sudden assault did nothing to lessen Vortex’s laughter.

“Hah!  What are you trying to do, Blasters?”

Blast Off really wished that he had the answer to that question.  He was feeling more than a little dinged up, and quite embarrassed.  On the bright side, he had Vortex pinned beneath him once again, face up, this time.  There was no need to answer such questions.  Instead, he dove in, digging blunt teeth into the fuel lines of Vortex’s throat, and pressing down, until they felt as though they were sure to burst.  Vortex gave a high-pitched whine, one that Blast Off had long ago learned meant ‘I am pretending to be distressed so I can get the upper hand.’  He didn’t let up, instead, pressing his fingers into the unyielding metal of Vortex’s chestplate, sliding them down his sides, harshly diggin them into any seam he could fit them into.  Vortex’s whine turned into a soft sigh, as predicted.  There was never such a thing as ‘too much’ with Vortex.  

It was more than a little nerve-wracking to be with a mech whose boundaries were practically non-existent.  Blast Off had no doubts that one of these days, Vortex would end up with a mech that didn’t know when to quit, and would find himself dead of an embarrassing interface-related injury.  But that injury would not come from Blast Off.  He knew the limits of Vortex’s frame, probably better than Vortex did.  

He let up the pressure on Vortex’s throat, but before the poor mech had a chance to get a taunt out, Blast Off moved on to Vortex’s mouth, shutting Vortex up with a curious glossa.  One of his hands found its way to Vortex’s belly, and pressed down, enjoying the give of the metal, while his other hand wrapped around Vortex’s back, below his rotors.  It paid some cursory attention to the rotor hub, before drifting lower and lower, over his flat aft, and between his legs.  Vortex didn’t bother keeping his panels closed.

His valve cover shot open, inviting Blast Off to come explore, and his spike shot out, rubbing against Blast Off’s own closed panels.  Mmm, that was nice.  For fairness’s sake, he retracted his own, and pulled away from the kiss, earning a strangled growl.

“Blast Off, why’d you stop?”

“You feeling spike today, or valve?  ‘Cause I could go either way.”

Vortex rolled his optics.  “You stopped for  _ that _ ?  Primus, can’t you just ravish me like everyone else without getting all touchy-feel-oof!”  Blast Off’s hand had found it’s way back to his throat.  

“You know what?  You don’t deserve either.”  He closed his panels again, with more than a little effort.  He really was aroused, but he was sick of playing Vortex’s game.  

“Hey!  What do you think you’re doin’?” Vortex hissed.

With his free hand, Blast Off reached into his subspace, pulling out a pair of stasis cuffs he’d brought, just in case he happened to run into wayward criminals . . . yeah right.  They were totally for a situation just like this!  Vortex’s optics brightened behind his visor as he saw what it was in Blast Off’s hand.  All too eagerly, he offered up his own wrists.

“Careful Vortex, one might think you  _ want  _ to be punished.”  Nonetheless, he slipped the cuffs on, and activated the stun feature.  Vortex’s frame went stiff for a moment, as a jolt of electricity flowed through his body, disabling his mobility circuits, before he collapsed limp against the floor.  Speech failed to come to him, but he did manage a pleasured moan.  Blast Off crawled off of him.

“Mmm?” he whined.

“Now you just stay put, Vortex.  You’ve been a little scraplet in the gearbox the entire time we’ve been up here.  I think it’s time you get a little punishment.”

It had been a long time since Blast Off had visited his room, but he still remembered where he kept his toys.  He moved to a panel on the wall, while Vortex whined on the floor all the while, and input a code, which summoned a hardlight drawer.  Vortex stopped whining.

Blast Off stooped down to open the bottom drawer.  It was just as he’d left it, filled with a few educational tablets from his Academy days some seven vorns ago, and beneath them, a small box, filled with three false spikes.  They were all scaled to be large for a shuttle; even the smallest would have fit Vortex’s size kink nicely.  Which was good, as the smallest of the three came equipped with an electricity function - easy to weaponize for the most delicious sort of pain.  Vortex was sure to enjoy it.

“What is that?” he mumbled, with great effort.

Blast Off could only smile a wicked smile as he returned, the spike in hand.  “What indeed?” he asked.  Vortex couldn’t see from his position, face to the floor, aft in the air, and that was how Blast Off preferred it.  

He knelt down, running a hand down his prisoner’s back, from the base of his helm, over his rotor hub, and all the way to his aft, lingering over his valve entrance.  He earned a needy moan for his efforts.

“Blast Off,” Vortex whined.  Blast Off removed his hand, warranting another whine.  “ _ Blast Off! _ ”

“I don’t reward bad behavior,” Blast Off smirked, tracing the same path, this time, using the false spike.  Paralyzed as he was, Vortex’s whole frame shivered, though this time, he refrained from words.

“Good boy.”  He wouldn’t have minded torturing the troublesome little aft for a few hours more, but his own spike was straining behind its casing, begging for release.  Getting through this part quickly would be good for the both of them.  “Now relax, this may hurt a little.”

He let the tip of the false spike brush against the entrance to Vortex’s valve, tracing the opening up and down, revelling in the choked, mechanical noises his partner made as he tried his hardest not to beg.  That was enough torment.  Slowly, Blast Off shoved the toy inside.  

Even for a relatively small toy, it was big for Vortex’s frame.  It didn’t make it far before Vortex’s stubborn, unprepared valve stopped its entrance.  Were Blast Off a more sadistic lover, he would have kept on pressing; Vortex probably would have enjoyed it, but unfortunately for the little masochist, Blast Off didn’t much like the idea of explaining his sexcapades to an Altihexian medic.  Instead, he gave Vortex a moment to adjust, giving the spike in his hand a slight wriggle to help the process along.

“Mmm, you couldn’t go bigger than  _ that _ ?” Vortex groaned.

“Oh,  _ I _ could,” Blast Off retorted, “but I’m not convinced  _ you _ can.”  He gave the spike a light shove, sliding it a little deeper, and then, deeper still, as Vortex’s abused calipers strained against it.  “Besides,” he laughed.  “I don’t want you loving a false spike more than me.”  One last shove was all it took before the spike could go no farther.  Vortex’s body tensed against it, uncontrolled, but the moment passed quickly.

“Mmmm.”  It seemed Vortex finally decided that talking was too much effort.  Blast Off was fine with that.

“Good, now that you’ve shut up, we can enjoy this.”  He withdrew the spike, not all the way, but enough that he could build some good momentum as he shoved it back in to the base.  Vortex shrieked, the sharp sound music to Blast Off’s audials.

“I’m surprised you feel anything at all,” he chuckled, “with all the slag you put yourself through.”  He gave another sharp thrust, this time, hard enough that poor Vortex’s whole frame jerked forward.  He could only whine in response.

“That’s what I like to hear.”  There were a few more sharp, fast thrusts, just enough to give Vortex a chance to adjust to the Shuttle-sized spike penetrating his smaller body.  That was when Blast Off hit the switch.

Vortex’s entire frame jerked, paralyzed as the electricity forced its way through his every joint; he was helpless to fight back - would have been, even if he hadn’t been bound by the stasis cuffs.  It was a delicious sight to behold.

Blast Off turned off the electricity, and Vortex fell limply to the ground, too drained to do more than groan.  Beautiful.  

He waited a scant few seconds, just long enough for sensation to return to his partner, before thrusting the spike in and out again, flicking the electricity on and off in time with his movements.  Vortex screamed.

Were it anyone else, Blast Off would have stopped right there.  But he’d been with Vortex for a long time, and he’d long since learned that if he stopped in the middle, he’d pay for it later - and not in a fun way.  And so, he tuned out the earsplitting screeches, the broken yowls, the aborted pleas, and instead focused on the way Vortex’s entire frame twitched with each thrust, the frantic shivers in his rotors, the steam that wafted from burnt lubricants and fried circuits, the sparks that shot from his shorting optics.  Every movement was so intense, it was nearly hard to notice the overload when it happened.

But eventually, moans of pleasure turned into groans of discomfort, the rhythmic clench of a strained valve around the spark ceased, the red glow of overworked optics extinguished itself.  Carefully, Blast Off removed the spike, and let Vortex collapse onto the floor.  When he made no complaint after several seconds, Blast Off hurried to remove the stasis cuffs, tossing both cuffs and false spike to the side to check up on his partner.

“Vortex?”

“Vortex isn’t here right now,” he mumbled, barely intelligible.

“Damn, you can still talk,” he griped, but in good humor.

“Mmm, no I can’t,” was the sleepy reply.  Then, much to Blast Off’s surprise, he felt a shaky hand against his array, insistently rubbing at the cover.  “Why’d you put it away?” Vortex whined.

It was nearly laughable.  “You’re insatiable,” Blast Off groaned.  “And you’re not getting my spike.  I think I broke you back there.”

Vortex sleepily shook his helm and, using Blast Off as a crutch, pivoted himself around on hands and knees, until his face was resting against the heated metal of Blast Off’s array.  Beneath the armor, his spike strained in its casing, begging to be set free.

“Still got a mouth,” he groaned.  This was a mech on the verge of passing out, even on hands and knees, he was swaying dangerously, and the light of his optics still hadn’t come back online.  Logic told Blast Off to refuse.  His spike, on the other hand, was too busy trying to get closer to that warm and inviting mouth to be persuaded by reason.  Blast Off’s spike cover shot open, and his straining spike sprang from its casing, striking Vortex on the cheek, and leaving a streak of transfluid in its wake.  Vortex was too drained to bother wiping it off.

Instead, his mouth, hot and hungry, got to work, engulfing Blast Off’s spike, and swallowing it as far down his throat as he could manage - which took him to his base.  Frag, that couldn’t have been good for him.  

“You don’t have to, y’know,” Blast Off tried.  “You’re beat, frankly, and I’m not gonna be happy if I find those sharp little teeth of yours embedded in my spike.”

As though to spite him, Vortex gave a few quick bobs of his head; Blast Off’s spike hit the back of his throat every time.  Bah, he was done being concerned about this little monster’s welfare.  

“Have it your way then.”  He placed a hand on the back of Vortex’s helm, partially for support, mostly for control, then began thrusting faster of his own accord.  Vortex choked and sputtered, but gave no other protestation, and Blast Off saw no need to stop.

It was easy to lose himself in the sensation of that hot little mouth around him, wet and eager - almost as good as a real valve.  It was when the deft fingers made their way to his valve cover, insistently pressing themselves into the heated metal, that Blast Off really began to lose it.  He let the offending mechanism fly open, granting Vortex free access to the treasures within.

It didn’t take him long to overload, wound up as he was, and Vortex eagerly swallowed every last drop of transfluid, lapping up any that escaped his mouth the first time, and licking his lubricant-slick fingers for good measure.  Once finished, however, he collapsed forward, completely spent; it was some miracle that Blast Off was able to catch him before he hit the ground.

“You idiot,” he groaned, “I told you not to overexert yourself.”

Vortex only groaned in return.

There was no way that pathetic little copter would be getting back up onto the bed of his own volition; not tonight.  So just this once (yeah right), Blast Off shifted the smaller, denser frame in his arms, getting a better grip on his lover, before hoisting the two of them back up onto the bed.  Vortex was out before they’d even landed on that airy surface, which was quite fine by Blast Off.  Vortex was always at his most attractive when he was asleep.

~~~

He let the memory fade, just like Altihex itself would in time.  It was gone - all of that history, that culture, its wealth and beauty, its people . . . intimate memories.  Blast Off’s homeland was gone, and here he was, standing in the midst of the rubble, staring blankly at the warped pieces of this once-proud whole.  What were they fighting for; how could any ideal be worth such horror?

“Blast Off!  I thought you might be here.”

Vortex was the last mech he wanted to see right now.  “Go away.”

Vortex didn’t go away, but nor did he say anything.  Instead, he approached from behind, and silently took Blast Off’s hand in his own, giving it a reassuring squeeze.  A flat helm rested against his shoulder, and a usually energetic EM field pulsed its reassurances.

_ I’m here. _

Somehow, after thirteen vorns together, it was the most romantic thing he’d ever done.  Altihex was burning, Altihex was dead, and soon, Altihex and all of its glory would fade from the minds of the people, just like Praxus, Nyon, and Uraya before it.  But it didn’t matter.  Nothing mattered anymore.  It was pointless to keep the memory of his homeland alive - there was still so many battles to fight, so many people to save; the loss, the misery would only hold him back.  And so, he used Vortex’s hold on his hand to pull him around, and into a deep, desperate kiss, which Vortex returned, gentle and reserved.  Never before had Blast Off imagined that Vortex would be the exact thing he needed.  He withdrew from the kiss, staring down into strangely unreadable optics, and said,

“Let’s get out of here.”

He did not look back.

  
  



End file.
